


Pieces

by vaguely_concerned



Series: Scoundrels and Thieves 'verse [6]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, M/M, young mchanzo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-18
Updated: 2016-08-18
Packaged: 2018-08-09 15:00:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7806412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vaguely_concerned/pseuds/vaguely_concerned
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hanzo after McCree is recruited by Overwatch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pieces

It didn’t hit him the first month, or even the second, but at some point during the third he realized that he was still waiting for Jesse to call him and everything unraveled. He didn’t remember excusing himself from dinner or going to his room, just that the next thing he knew was that he was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face in his hands.

Hanzo had been stabbed once - it had been his own fault, the price for a moment of distraction. There was some dark irony in the fact that he hadn’t learned his lesson from that, but this time it was so much worse. The wound in his arm had been an annoyance, easily remedied with disinfectants and a few stitches. _This_ felt like it was going to kill him. He almost wished it would, just to make it stop.

He wiped at his eyes angrily, feeling stupid in a way he hadn’t since the time right after his mother died. He should have known something like this would happen. He shouldn’t have been so utterly _foolish_. He should have left that first night, when he understood just how dangerous it was, and not looked back.

(And he knew that he could never have done that, not with Jesse’s face against his neck and the soft, happy smile just before he fell asleep, but the regret tore through him like a forest fire and he wished - he wished… he _wished_ he’d never even met him, that he didn’t know what he looked like when he slept.)

Now all of the happiest things in his life had turned to knives shoved into his gut - Jesse’s lips gentle on the back of neck, Jesse whistling under his breath while working on something, every laugh that had ever been startled out of him; he had to bend double around the hurt of it.  

Jesse was as far you could ever come from his family, with his ridiculous theatrical getup and his wild, crooked creativity and eyes that made Hanzo feel better than he was when viewed through them.

He was the one thing Hanzo had ever allowed himself to keep just for himself.  

Hanzo bit at his lip, too hard, enough so that he tasted blood, and still he couldn’t keep a small, pathetic sound from escaping.

He was gone.

He had walked away, back into the desert, and he was not coming back.

Hanzo was angry. Not at Jesse - when it came down to it Hanzo would rather see him gone and free than rotting in a prison somewhere, it hadn’t been much of a choice - and not at Overwatch, an organization that seemed too abstract and distant to blame. His rage was omnidirectional, indiscriminate and all-encompassing, condemning everyone and everything equally.

...Jesse had asked him to come with him and he had said no. Hanzo hid his face in his hands again and tried to clear his mind of anything except remembering how to breathe.

He heard light, nimble footsteps coming down the hall, and he swore at himself because he’d been too distracted to remember to lock the door. Maybe if he was really quick about it he could reach the door before Genji came in.

But before Hanzo could do anything more than reaching his hand out for the lock, his brother had stuck his head in through the doorway. “Hanzo, have you seen -”

Genji’s eyes widened when he saw him; he suddenly looked very scared and very young. “What happened?” he asked, reaching out for Hanzo’s shoulder, and five years ago Hanzo might have let him, but now he flinched back from it, his pulse racing.

“Nothing,” he said. It came out harsher than he had meant it to. “It’s nothing.”

Genji’s fingers faltered, and then he let his hand fall meekly to rest at his side. “I… do you want me to…”

“No.”

“I could go and find Father - “

“ _No._ ” Their father didn’t need the burden of this stupid thing on top of all the others.

“But -”

“Genji,” he said, everything in him going cold and sharp in one breath. “Go. Away.”

His brother didn’t get to suddenly care now, when everything else seemed to be a joke to him. He didn’t _get_ to leave only to come waltzing back every now and then, expecting to be let in again like nothing had happened.

Genji stood there in the middle of the floor, hunched up on himself like he was freezing. There was a sting of something in Hanzo’s chest, some part relenting, but he couldn’t find a way to say so.

“Okay. I… I’ll go. I’m sorry.” He closed the door behind him, glancing back over his shoulder for a second before he did.  Hanzo’s first instinct was to go after him, to tell him that it wasn’t about him, not really, none of it was his fault - but he didn’t know how to do that anymore, so instead he stood there lamely for a long time, his head full of nothing but deafening silence.

_“Come with me.”_

And he hadn’t known how to do that either.

 


End file.
